slowly, but aching
by queen-of-anarchy
Summary: say it if it's worth saving me. / charles&erik.


The rain hardly stopped, for it was as pounding and menacing as the hard beat of war drums across the wind. It was quite appropriate really, gray skies with undertones of gray and black across like a painter's canvas, lighting sometimes flickering the canvas with bright flashes of white and then you heard the tremendous thump of the storm cloud and raindrops come like a curtain on New York, truly, the smell of rain and tea should have been enough to please Charles Xavier, to make him feel like home; but he knew the truth, nothing will ever feel like home again. Home was where you had family, friends, company, _acceptance._ The manor was now all but empty, for both Alex and Sean had managed to stay at the Cassidy's estate for the holidays, making young Alexander their companion since both of his parents where nowhere to be found. Hank managed to stay here by his own accord of having nowhere to go now that he was proclaimed a Beast…and well, besides Hank, no one occupied the mansion.

Charles Xavier, he was up in his study, sitting, since he couldn't do anything else, just staring hollowly at the portraits he had hung in his manor; there was a picture of young Alexander Summers, blond, snarky and ambitious, one of the first X-Men, as Moira as placed it, in his smile, behind that smile, no one could had predicted that he truly did suffer when discovering his true mutant powers. I never meant to do that, he once said to him in confidence. _I never meant to hurt anybody .I was just a kid being robbed, but it just…happened._ Charles knew that deep down; he was truly an amazing lad. Next portrayed Sean Cassidy, flirtatious, quite a bit like himself almost, carefree and fun, Sean was the glue that held Alex and Hank together, rather than fighting, he was the youngest of them, actually, but much more smart than anyone would have expected. Next portrayed was of Hank McCoy, before his transformation; blue eyes that spoke of sincerity and a smile that had managed to brighten Raven's day, every day, but with his mouth, he often found hard to stop talking after it opened, it wasn't really his fault, but he was just a nervous kid, but a pleasant, fantastically intelligent kid. Next portrait came of Raven…and Charles couldn't help run a finger down the pattern of the blue skin in her arm. He should have known, of course, he should have known what to say to Raven. _You're beautiful the way you are,_ those where truly the words she needed to her, and she truly was, the patterns on her blue skin, the way he orange hair neatly slid back against her scalp, she was exotic. Of course, he stills stands by his believe of only seeing her as a little sister, but she was his first friend, she accepted him the way she was, maybe he should had have too.

But the next portrait broke Charles heart and he couldn't help but just look away…pain rises up to his chest, as if he was literally breaking, slowly, bit by bit, feeling just more shattered than before, he feels his hands shake and he can't help but throw the wine glass he had carefully placed n his hand and just thrown it towards the portrait. Charles wanted to scream in anger, in misery, but the action never managed to form its way out of his red lips, he felt the blood pumping in his ears. The man within the portrait was now covered by the coaxing red stain that was Charles's wine, the floor was filled with the broken glass cup.

"Erik," He says, he whispers it, it's only auditable to himself, but the words still stung like a blade piercing through his body. "Erik," He whispers once more, with tears clouding his vision, with tears that had not been there before, with tears he had not shed since the time Erik moved the satellite, tears that he was holding back. "Erik," He says now, sobbing, he clutches his wheelchair, his knuckles turning white, his eyes turning red, his teeth slowly digging into his lower lip. Charles was destroyed, shattered. Charles Francis Xavier was heartbroken. With more tears streaming down from his blue eyes that he wanted to, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, he knew this was going to be this way, nothing could have stopped Erik from achieving his goal, from killing Shaw, but because of him, now Charles was a murderer too, he had held Sebastian while Erik's slow but steady coin slid from his forehead to the back of his head. What had hurt Charles the most was that Erik **knew **Charles was feeling Shaw's pain, but yet he continued anyway, and Charles held on to Shaw because he knew that if he didn't, Erik would die. But now, sitting here, motionless, broken and sobbing, Charles knew this day was coming, the day he realized how deeply he had fallen in love with Erik Lehnsherr. Unfortunately, it was too late, for they had parted ways as both allies and friends.

The coin was in his palm now, the bloody coin Erik frequently played with, stained with Shaw's blood, but Charles kept it close. The only reminder of Erik he had left. Charles had ordered Hank to go home, to see his family for Christmas, but as much as he tried to protest, he was defeated and with a sigh he packed his belongings and returned to his family. Now, utterly alone in the big empty house, Charles wheeled himself towards the kitchen, grabbed as many wine bottles and surprisingly scotch bottle he could put in a box and wheeled towards his study. Lighting the fireplace and slowly arranging of the bottles in the small little coffee table, he looked towards the portraits once again, Erik's capturing his attention the most.

"Cheers," He says lifting the first bottle of wine towards the portrait as if not alone and he choose to place his lips against the glass and the red liquid came to his throat in violent strokes, long, hard gulp after another, his vision was slowly starting to cloud, he could still hear the rain outside, more fierce than before, the thunder around comforts him. "Erik," he says rather loudly. "If you can hear me, just do, I love you…it was a mistake letting you go." Three more bottles of wine later and the floor covered with broken glass pieces, he slowly drifted into unconsciousness, but not before hearing one last sentence, one last line.

_I shouldn't have left in the first place._

Inside his mind, he relieved the beach scene so many times, the way he had tackled Erik to the white hot sand and the way they spun around it, shouting at each other, hitting each other, the way Erik lifted those missiles as if it was nothing but amusement to him. The way Moira bravely, yet stupidly started to shoot at him, but what was running to her mind to shoot a person who had just stopped a lot of missiles from killing them? Charles knew her intentions were based on desperation and fear, but she had to act wisely there. Slowly standing up to stop Moira, he suddenly felt pain, deep heart-wrenching pain, letting out a blood-curdling scream, he slowly crashed back unto the sand, he could see Erik's face panicking as he raced towards Charles and placed his head in his lap. Slowly cradling him, like a child, like a lover.

_**"I said back off."**_ He would always remember the way he had screamed those words, as if he was a child again and was losing his mother, but only this time, he was losing Charles. _**"You, you did this."**_ He growled at Moira, choking her with her dog tags, which was kind of ironic, she was being choked by something that meant to her, something that represented what she was.

_"She didn't do this, Erik,"_ The next words were tight in his throat but he managed to spit them out. _"You did."_ The look of what can only be described as pain was slashed against Erik's face, immobilized, paralyzed by guilt and horror.

_**"Us turning against each other, this is what they want. I want you by my side, we're brothers you and I, we want the same thing."**_ He said, in a desperate attempt to not lose the only true friend he ever had, looking into grey-blue eyes, it was hard to look away.

With a laugh that truly meant pain, he spoke the words, the dreaded words he should have never spoken. _"I'm sorry, my friend, but we do not."_ The words were a slap to Erik and it stung him, Charles didn't know if as a friend or something more, but it stung him.

Waking up against the blazing sun form the window, Charles Xavier found himself on a bed, with his night gear on, his wheelchair by his side, a hot cup of tea and the coin deep in his palm. He certainly didn't remember getting here, but as he tried to stand up, his head protested, with wild pains of rushes and aches, dizzy and spinning, he must be having an aching hangover over the failed suicide attempt. Staring up at the ceiling, he heard a commotion downstairs, assuming it was Hank that was back from his holiday, he slid back down against the pillows.

"You know, if you wanted to kill yourself with alcohol poisoning, I suggest three bottles of Scotch instead of Wine." He heard that voice, that hard, stern voice. Erik crept from the shadows, a newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other, Charles tried to speak, to scream at him to get out but no words came out, just a gasp, taking a seat beside the bed, Erik placed his hand around Charles' and spoke. "I know you don't want me here, but I just wanted to see you." His voice was starting to break, but he maintained a straight face. "I never meant for any of this to happen…for causing you this," his hand slid down Charles waist to his leg, indicating his handicap. "But I heard you, last night, Charles," He says, Charles feels hot tears in his hand; Erik has his hand against his forehead, softly clinging to it. "I felt you in my head, your anger, you spoke to me." He says as he places his head against Charles abdomen, Charles slowly pats his head. "You're not alone, Charles, I need you as much as you need me." With tears that streamed down his face, Charles closed his eyes and fell back.

_Kiss me,_ He mentally told Erik. He stared up at Charles, his grey eyes filled with torture; he placed both his big, strong hands against Charles' pale, pale cheeks. He slowly placed his lips against Charles bloody red ones and tenderly kissed them, as if delicates that could break.  
>Charles didn't know whether this was the start or the end of them, but either was it was, he was glad he had called Erik, he was glad Erik had saved his life, because he found him worthy of one. But as much as it pained him, he needed Erik, as he needed him too.<p> 


End file.
